


marble and black powder (winter palace)

by vannral



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, Intimacy, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Reunions, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-12-07 18:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11629485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannral/pseuds/vannral
Summary: The Exalted Council is gathering at the Winter Palace, and Alistair Theirin is very much not pining. (He is.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this is very self-indulgent reunion stuff - which apparently has been sitting in my folder for some time. You can pry this pairing from my cold, dead hands.

The Winter Palace is almost like from a fairy tale. Everything is _straight_ from the children books; white marble walls glitter and glimmer, gilded stairs, vast colourful gardens, seas of vibrant flowers, golden lion statues standing majestetically on the edges.

Everything is so glamorous and _magical._  

And at the moment, Alistair hates everything in it. _Orlais, sweet Andraste._ Why. Why _him._  

It itches under his skin, claws his bones, gnawing and _jittery._ After greeting the _committee,_ Alistair very hastily retreated into the gardens, just to breathe a bit.

 _Damn this bloody Exalted Council,_ he grumbles biting his thumb nail. Also, Teagan’s there, too, which is another problem entirely, and _ohh boy, he hasn’t aged well… He’s become really cranky since the last time…_

     “Warden Alistair!”

Alistair blinks, momentarily panics, because _nope,_ he doesn’t fancy talking flat pleasantries with Orlesian nobles, _thank you very much,_ but it’s not a creepy mask approaching, but Cassandra.

The Seeker looks _healthy;_ there’s a bronze glow on her scarred cheeks, and her eyes seem bright, even if under tightly knitted eyebrows. She’s probably just as displeased to be here as Alistair is, and he takes comfort in that.

     “Seeker Pentaghast!” he greets her cheerfully. “Isn’t everything so warm and sunny and stabbing and _political?”_

Her mouth forms into a sour grimace. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I already had to chase three nobles away with a sword – ugh, this is _intolerable”,_ she grunts. “How about you?”

     “Well, you know; dodging creepy people in masks. Also trying to eat without them judging me for my manners.”

Alistair’s mind wanders back to Cullen, and violent surge of longing nearly knocks the air out of his lungs. Is he close? Is he all right? Is he even here? His letters told that he would be here, and it would be pretty unlikely if the Inquisition’s Commander doesn't show up, but still…

 _It’s been so long,_ Alistair thinks, so long that his teeth ache and nails _hurt,_ taste of salt bitter on his tongue.

They have been apart for weeks now; the matter of Cousland’s search forced Alistair to depart from Skyhold ( _not that he agreed with any of it, but he’s her second-in-command, so what can he do),_ and _then there was a dragon,_ because of course there was, and fire and _drakes,_ and _Maker’s breath,_ why does this always happen to them?

(Well, _to_ _Cousland,_ and she didn’t even bang any gongs this time.)

And now finally, they’re in the same _city, finally, finally,_ and Alistair thinks he’s almost splitting in _half_ with the raw force of it.

Maybe his poker face isn’t as good as he would like to think, because Cassandra’s expression softens into a teasing smirk, which bodes _no good_ for Alistair.

     “Don’t worry, he will be here”, she says, obviously amused, and Alistair turns crimson.

     “Lady Pentaghast, how dare you, I have – I – don’t know what you’re talking about.”

     “Oh, _please._ I have been forced to watch Commander’s pining for weeks now, so I _do_ know how a man in love looks like. It is ridiculous. _Sweet,_ but ridiculous.”

     “Yes, that sounds like us, but never mind that, he _is_ here?” Alistair asks, giddy and excited in the most _childish_ sense, but he couldn’t give a bloody damn about _that._

     “Oh, yes. Scowling and annoyed with the whole ride through the city, let me assure you. Also according to our lady Montiliyet, there has been several marriage proposals for Commander, as well.”

Alistair’s jaw drops. “ _What?”_

Cassandra’s expression remains dryly amused.

     “Oh, yes. It seems like Orlesians are _very_ interested in him.”

     “You’re teasing me. This is awful. I’m _suffering.”_

She pats his shoulder.

     “I would not worry – he develops a headache every time we approach the Winter Palace”, she tells him.

     “But Orlesians _visit_ Skyhold, don’t they? They don’t _stay_ in the Winter Palace – Val Royeaux, whatever – especially the – the interested kind.”

     “Cullen is very determined to avoid nobles, Orlesian or otherwise. The Inquisitor is quite annoyed with him.”

     “So, um – sorry, not to sound _completely_ desperate, but where is he?”

     “He’s most likely exchanging preliminary reports with Leliana – oh, there he is.”

Alistair’s heart skips a wild beat. It’s Cullen, walking along the cobble stoned garden path toward them – he’s changed into more formal clothes and he has tired circles around his eyes, but the way his expression softens, _lights up,_ when he sees Alistair…

He approaches them. “Alistair”, he says, his tone a little bit rougher than usual. “Hello.”

     “Hi”, Alistair beams, his heart pounding and fluttering in a mix of longing and utter, explosive joy.

Cassandra eyes them, like she’s very done with them. “Nice to see you, Cullen. Was Leliana in the garden?”

Cullen blinks. “Um, yes. Everything all right?”

     “Fine, now stop asking about me, _Commander._ Do try to be careful _”,_ Cassandra orders them, flashes a wry grin and takes her leave. They both look startled after her.

Their gazes return to each other, like a magnetic pull, and they smile.

     “Are you okay?” Cullen asks, because _of course he does, he cares so much,_ and he’s having a headache again, Alistair can see the way his forehead creases, how he frowns ever so slightly.

     “Yeah, I am. Sick of caves and dodgy people, who lie about dragons, but okay.” He’s not sure which one of them leans first, but they’re finally embracing. Cullen feels warm, solid, _familiar,_ and Alistair buries his face into the crook of Cullen’s neck. He’s safe. He’s _home._

     “I missed you”, he whispers and pets absentmindedly the back of Cullen’s neck, cards his fingers through his hair. He feels Cullen relax into the embrace.

     “I missed you, too.”

     “Did the creepy sparrow return now that I’m not there to glare at it?”

Cullen snorts in laughter. “I’d say so, more than once.” He cradles Alistair’s face on his palm, brushes the freckled cheekbone with his thumb.

     “But – _but,_ don’t distract me with your _face –_ you have slept, right? You look tired.”

     “I have”, Cullen replies and Alistair squints at him. “I _have._ You can ask Cassandra. She's very suspicious that I don't keep a regular sleeping schedule.”

     “'Cause you kind of don't. Irregularly regular. Okay, okay, I'm joking. I believe you.” Alistair leans forward and presses a chaste, slow kiss on Cullen’s mouth. It’s their first kiss after all these weeks, and it’s like sinking into warm water – comforting, _lovely,_ relaxing.

     “I can’t wait till this is over and we can leave”, Cullen murmurs against Alistair’s lips.

     “Me, too. Ooh, boy, you have no idea, I keep getting heart attacks. I’ve told the tale of Cousland at least _three times_ already.”

     “Oh?”

     “ _Yes.”_

     “How is she, by the way?” Cullen asks, when they head to sit in a reclusive alcove, away from curious glances and all the gossip. They intertwine their fingers. 

Alistair grimaces. “She’s fine, ‘course she is, because she completely _dodged_ this whole Exalted Council thing, which I think is all rubbish, and no, I don’t care how many drakes and ogres we fought, she should give her opinion about this whole mess.”

     “How so? She’ s not in the Inquisition, officially at least. Much like you, love.”

     “I know, but – I think it would give Teagan at least a pause. Get him to _listen._ Anyway, she’s fine, we got further in our investigation, and I think we’re finally getting somewhere. ‘There’s always a weakness’, she liked to parrot at me. Which is true, ‘course, and very comforting to hear when an ogre is frothing at the mouth and coming for us.”

     “An _ogre –_ Maker’s breath. Can you tell what you’ve found?”  

     “Yeah, but not here, sorry. I don’t trust all this… _marble._ It’s probably listening. _”_

     “Good point.” Cullen kisses Alistair’s temple and runs his thumb over Alistair’s knuckles. Alistair sighs softly with contentment and leans against him. They enjoy quietly Orlais’s summer warmth, seeping into their skin.  

     “I’m glad you’re here”, the Warden murmurs finally. “We should take a vacation after this.”

     “Where would you want to go?”

     “Uh…didn’t think that far ahead, to be honest? I’d just…I’d be fine with a cottage in the middle of nowhere and just…just enjoy the peace and quiet.”

Cullen pulls back slightly to gaze at his partner’s face. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion, but it holds a special kind of _yearning_ in their hearts. A dream. A goal. What they desperately _want,_ why they’re willing to tear through all the stress and agony _._

     “After the Council”, Cullen agrees quietly. “Whatever will happen to the Inquisition.”

     “Yeah. Let's see this through.”  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't leave it at that. Sigh. Okay. I love these two. So this is also a little self-indulgent, especially with the thing that is asked. I'm not sorry.

     “You _found_ a _mabari?”_

Trevelyan jumps, startled and beside her, Cassandra can barely hide her snort of amusement. They catch a glimpse of Alistair running towards Cullen, who – like a true Ferelden, _truly –_ has found a big mabari in the Winter Palace’s gardens, of all possible places.

     “Well, he’s not _mine”,_ Cullen points out matter-of-factly, but his ears turn red. “A merchant found him abandoned, since they don’t have mabari in Orlais… maybe they grew tired of the novelty…?”

     “Heathens! How dare they, look at how well he can fetch – oh, he can probably fetch a _moose,_ never mind your stick”, Alistair beams and scratches the dog behind the ears. The dog – a huge animal with sleek gray fur – closes his eyes and leans against the Warden’s palm. 

Cullen sighs. “He’s not supposed to _fetch_ it…”

     “You’re such a _good_ boy, a big, handsome _boy,_ you are!” Alistair coos at the dog and kisses the top of his head. “D’you wanna take him back to Ferelden?”

Cullen’s lips twitch into a warm smile. “Well, I did promise Mia we would pay her a visit.”

     “Oooh. She’s gonna spoil him _rotten.”_

     “Remember who you report to”, Cullen tells the dog firmly, and Alistair bursts out laughing; his eyes are shining, crinkled, lips curled into genuine _joy._ Cullen glances at him, satisfied and pleased that he’s managed to make his partner laugh. 

     “Don’t worry, we’ll be bribing him with pork”, he says and presses a sweet, slow kiss on Cullen’s lips. “You found a _dog.”_

     “I found a dog”, Cullen agrees, grinning into the kiss.

     “You big _softie.”_

     “I’m not arguing with that”, Cullen chuckles. “Just don’t tell Sera, she would have a field day with that one.”

Alistair wraps his arms around Cullen’s neck, holds him in an affectionate hug and brushes his nose against Cullen’s. They are usually very private about their affections, but the stress, separation and nail-aching _anxiety_ about this Exalted Council make them on edge, so having each other around _finally_ is a blessed comfort.

Maybe that’s why Cullen’s expression softens, becomes mellow and _handsome,_ as he very quietly murmurs: “Marry me.”

A beat. _Deafening silence for a second._

Then, Alistair’s breathing _hitches_ painfully in his throat, his jaw drops, and he tightens instinctively his grip on Cullen’s shoulders.

     “Wait a minute – you’re _asking_ me to marry you?”

“Yes, I am”, Cullen answers calmly, his gaze observing closely Alistair’s face, gauging his reaction.

     “We _are in the Winter Palace”,_ Alistair hisses, almost panicked. “Qunari are probably gonna blow us all up and then trample all over us, and you’re _asking_ me to marry you?”

     “I’d rather have it without Qunari invasion, but yes. I _am.”_

Alistair stares at him for a beat – and then crushes his mouth against Cullen’s, pulling him into a kiss, laughing almost hysterically with _relief._  

     “Oh, _yes,_ thank the Maker. I’m in. Very much so. Do you know how many times I’ve _dreamed_ about this?”

     “Oh, you have?”

     “Yeah, and I’m _not_ apologizing for it. We’re really doing this?”

     “Are you willing, Alistair?”

     “Oh, am I _willing?_ I was willing, when we were _thirteen!_ Totally dreamed of our own house, too. No pressure, I’m just saying there’s no way an impending Qunari disaster will stop _me_.”

     “Perhaps not, but you are a Warden, love.”

Alistair pauses, his warm gaze finding Cullen’s, soft and _gentle._

“Yes, I am. But I’m also a veteran of the Fifth Blight, and I fought beside Cousland in it. I’m _her_ second-in-command before anything else. I’m helping _her._ I’d like to see them try to _stop_ me, Warden-Commanders be _damned_. They can send me a strongly worded letter if they have some disaster ahead of them again. You know, _whining._ Because it always happens. But until it does and until I ignore it, you can’t get rid of me, Cullen.”

Cullen brushes gently Alistair’s cheek with his thumb. “Aren’t you being a little rebellious.”  

     “Right back sassing the mages, yep. Well. Wardens. Why not everyone else, too, while I’m at it.”

All tension that he hasn't even realized there _even is,_ drains from Cullen, and he leans forward and captures Alistair’s mouth in a deep, intimate kiss, nudging their noses together.

     “Sooo…what are you gonna name him?”

     “I haven’t thought that far, yet.” A pause. Suspiciously squinting eyes. “Oh, for Maker’s – you are plotting something, aren’t you?”

A slow, giddy grin makes it’s way onto Alistair’s face. “Listen, Cullen – he could be _Barkspawn the Second.”_

     “Maker’s _breath.”_

     “I know! Brilliant, isn’t it?”

     “You are _not_ going to call our dog _Barkspawn the Second.”_

     “Oh, so, it’s the _Second_ part that bothers you, is it?”

     “Try Barkspawn in _general.”_

     “Okay, maybe not, then. Just throwing it out there, I do have a list.” Alistair beams at him, all soft and warm in his happiness. “You make me really happy, you know that, right?”

     “I always hope so”, Cullen murmurs and brushes Alistair’s cheekbone with his thumb. “You make me happy as well, Alistair. Ever since Templar training.”

Lovely golden rosy flush spreads on Alistair’s cheeks. “Aww, you had a soft spot for me? We were so gangly and awkward, _Maker.”_

     “I remember.”

     “We’re getting _married.”_

     “Mmh-hmm, we are.”

     “We’re _getting married.”_

     “So I’ve heard.”

     “Maker, Knight-Commander Alec would totally have an aneurysm if he heard about this.”

     “I think he’s actually…dead?”

     “May he spin in his grave.”

     “ _Alistair.”_

     “He was really grumpy, though.”

     “Do we really have to talk about him?”

     “Yeah, I mean, you just proposed, it's...kind of a big deal? Try a life long dream, maybe. Okay, I’ll stop. I love you, hi, you look very handsome.”

Shaking his head in fond exasperation, Cullen tilts Alistair's head again and presses a deep, tender kiss on his mouth.

     “Can we do it now?”

     “Now?”

     “Yes, now! I'd rather not wait until a scary qunari army comes charging at us.”

     “Fair point. I don't have a ring for you right now, though.”

     “Pfft, who cares? I don't have one for you, either, so you'll have to wait. Just so you know, I'd love a silver ring. Would that be too fancy?”

     “And here I thought I would have to carve one out of tree.”

     “Huh, not bad? Iron bark, maybe?”

     “Or that dead birch over there.”

     “My own husband! I can't _believe_ you!”  

     “I was not _serious -_ ”

     “A ring from a dead birch. Well, I don't marry you for money, you know. ”

Laughing, they lace their fingers together and start walking toward Divine Victoria's small army of clerics.  

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many ideas about these two...  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! <3


End file.
